It will not be necessary for us to follow Lady Honoria in her travels. That afternoon Effie and her father had great fun. They packed up. Geoffrey, who was rapidly recovering from his stiffness, pushed the things into the portmanteaus and Effie jumped on them. Those which would not go in they bundled loose into the fly, till that vehicle looked like an old clothes ship. Then, as there was no room left for them inside, they walked down to the Vicarage by the beach, a distance of about three-quarters of a mile, stopping on their way to admire the beautiful castle, in one corner of which Owen Davies lived and moved. “Oh, daddy,” said the child, “I wish you would buy a house like that for you and me to live in. Why don’t you, daddy?” “Haven’t got the money, dear,” he answered. “Will you ever have the money, daddy?” “I don’t know, dear, perhaps one day—when I am too old to enjoy it,” he added to himself. “It would take a great many pennies to buy a house like that, wouldn’t it, daddy?” said Effie sagely. “Yes, dear, more than you could count,” he answered, and the conversation dropped. Presently they came to a boat-shed, placed opposite the village and close to high-water mark. Here a man, it was old Edward, was engaged in mending a canoe. Geoffrey glanced at it and saw that it was the identical canoe out of which he had so nearly been drowned. “Look, Effie,” said he, “that is the boat out of which I was upset.” Effie opened her wide eyes, and stared at the frail craft. “It is a horrid boat,” she said; “I don’t want to look at it.” “You’re quite right, little miss,” said old Edward, touching his cap. “It ain’t safe, and somebody will be drowned out of it one of these days. I wish it had gone to the bottom, I do; but Miss Beatrice, she is that foolhardy there ain’t no doing nothing with her.” “I fancy that she has learnt a lesson,” said Geoffrey. “May be, may be,” grumbled the old man, “but women folk are hard to teach; they never learn nothing till it’s too late, they don’t, and then when they’ve been and done it they’re sorry, but what’s the good o’ that?” Meanwhile another conversation was in progress not more than a quarter of a mile away. On the brow of the cliff stood the village of Bryngelly, and at the back of the village was a school, a plain white-washed building, roofed with stone, which, though amply sufficient and suitable to the wants of the place, was little short of an abomination in the eyes of Her Majesty’s school inspectors, who from time to time descended upon Bryngelly for purposes of examination and fault-finding. They yearned to see a stately red-brick edifice, with all the latest improvements, erected at the expense of the rate-payers, but as yet they yearned in vain. The school was supported by voluntary contributions, and thanks to Beatrice’s energy and good teaching, the dreaded Board, with its fads and extravagance, had not yet clutched it.